


The Punished

by Entropyrose



Series: Season of the Devil [6]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alpha Frank, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Ass to Mouth, Frank and Matt have a 21-year-old son, Guess that makes this fic post-mpreg, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Omega Matt, Rape/Non-con Elements, Threats, non-consensual anal fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-07-26 03:18:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7558096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entropyrose/pseuds/Entropyrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>S.H.I.E.L.D. agents finally have their man. After two long months of incarceration, Frank is allowed his first conjugal visit with Matt an the ultra-security underwater prison (unfortunately for them, with an audience).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place directly after Eric the Red, which as of 7/22/16 is a Work In Progress. Can be read alone, but may contain spoilers from Eric the Red. This is 22+ years in the future, as their son is now a grown young man.

Matt left the office early that day. Normally, Foggy would heckle him as he was gathering his take-home paperwork or try to redirect him by pulling him into Foggy’s portion of the office for a sit-down discussion on a particular case. Foggy would say Matt was leaving him to do all the grunt work. That it sometimes felt more like an internship than a partnership. And Matt would take it all with a smile and a measure of patience, sometimes reminding Foggy that Matt, too, burnt the candle at both ends, and that one of those said ends took the form of a horned, masked vigilante putting himself in harm’s way to save the city he loved. Foggy would mutter something about how much he wished Matt would stop, to which Matt would reply that he could not stop and that Foggy knew that.

 

But not today.

 

Foggy placed an arm around Matt’s shoulder, squeezing gently. The corner of Matt’s mouth turned upward sharply, if only for a second.

 

“You want me to drive you?,” Foggy offered.

 

“No, that’s okay.” Matt closed his briefcase, swooping up the duffel he had prepared at the apartment that morning, knowing that he would be leaving directly from the office for his destination. “I doubt they’d let anybody else come.”

 

Matt’s stomach had been all butterflies for the past week. Finally, the day had arrived and his heart was up in his throat and he constantly swallowed to keep it down. Two long months. Two long months of sleeping in an empty bed, showering alone, no radio or t.v. tuned to Nat Geo or Animal Planet, Frank’s favorite channels. Matt made black coffee in the same old coffee pot every morning just so the fragrance would waft through the apartment and calm his jittery nerves. Two months and not even so much as a phone call. He slept with Frank’s shirt, the only way he could get to sleep, breathing in his scent. Matt had gotten very good at the silent cry—burying his face in Frank’s pillow and dry-heaving until it was smattered with his tears.

When Eric had to get back to the college, Matt held him a little tighter on good-bye hugs—he was a living, breathing part of Frank and Matt had to force himself to finally release him. Eric would laugh softly, telling him, “Daddy, it’ll be alright.”, even as he wrapped his arms around his Dad a little more snugly, too, giving his waist a good squeeze for measure. Matt would never tell him, but Frank did that too.

 

The letter had finally arrived one week ago. Matt had been shaking as he opened the letter and gripped it tightly as Foggy had read it over his shoulder.  “Mr. Matt Murdock, your request for a conjugal visit with Prisoner 44-Bravo-Juno-K853 has been conditionally approved, contingent upon background checks and security clearance. Your three-hour supervised stay will be scheduled at a later date. Please call the number below to verify the appointment arrival date and time. Please note the only available time will be the time you are given—there will be no rescheduling option, and a cancellation due to non-adherence to Prison policies will not be considered for re-approval. You WILL follow dress code and security clearance procedures before and after your visit and any and all orders given by S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel and/or S.T.R.I.K.E. Team members must be met with complete compliance.”

 

That was when Matt could reassure himself that he was going to see him. He blew out a hard breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding in and Foggy hugged him. “Thank God,” he groaned happily. “Thank God.”

 

Matt left the office, hanging a right down the street and walking a few blocks to a small café—the rendezvous point. There, he was met by an agent who put him in a vehicle—a big black Escalade—and blindfolded him “for security purposes.” Matt scoffed.

 

“You do realize I am blind, right?”

 

The agent produced two small, round objects from his pocket, and sneered at him. “Yes, sir. I do,” he said as he plugged up Matt’s ears. Matt only realized in that moment that he probably had a touch of claustrophobia. Not being able to use his sonar senses to “see” the world around him and not being able to so much as hear normal sounds dried up his mouth instantly and sent a shiver down his back. He gripped the duffel bag tighter, reminding himself that in an hour, none of that was going to matter. Because he was going to be with _him_.  “Can-“ Matt cleared his throat, trying to make out his own muffled voice despite the enhanced sound-blocking devices. Instinctively, he reached a hand up to his ear to pull it out and the agent grabbed his hand, ushering it back to his side. He took one ear-piece out.

 

“Keep your hands at your side at all times or I will disable them.”

 

Matt nodded, wondering briefly what the agent meant by ‘disable’. “Sorry,” he stuttered. “I was wondering if I could call my son really quickly, I forgot to tell him—“

 

The agent’s hand was back in Matt’s face again, shoving the ear-piece back in. “We are already moving. Observe silence until we get to the Transitioning Bay.”

 

With that, Matt’s world was shut out from him again, with only his raspy breathing and the dry, sticky swallowing sounds caught in his throat to occupy him.

 

The duffel was wrenched away, out of his reach, and when he remained perfectly still, he could make out the sound of the agent rifling through it. “Hey—“ he chirped. The agent stopped, and it was as if Matt could *feel* the man glaring at him, daring him to speak further. Matt forced himself to relax. He had never felt so helpless in all his life.

 

Matt went over the day's tasks in his mind. He had begun his heat a few days ago, but did he remember to take his suppressants and the birth control? Yes. Not that it mattered, he reminded himself. The excitement of getting to be with/hear Frank for the first time in two months would easily topple any effect the suppressants might have had in subduing his urges. He could feel his body responding to the thought of merely being in the same vicinity as his alpha, his lover, his husband, let alone being touched by him. Matt squirmed, grateful that his hands were in his lap, hiding the growing bulge between his legs.

 

The Transitioning Bay, as the agent had called it, was by the sea. The burst of cold spray as Matt was led out of the Escalade and into a waiting helicopter told him that much. The agent handed Matt off to a new escort, who roughly lifted him up into the helicopter, even though Matt was perfectly capable of doing it himself. The new escort’s hands were gloved and boney underneath, with a cold, overly harsh touch. It didn’t take much effort to recognize the wiry muscles and unfeeling hands belonged to a Strike team operative. With all the attention from strange men, his body was responding, the biological need to procreate far outweighing the fact that these men were strangers and that Matt was repulsed by them. Matt cursed inwardly, biting the meat inside his lip, drawing blood. The pain somewhat curbed the drive, and he pushed his back into the helicopter seat as they ascended. _Of all the times to be in heat!_

 

The ride was short, and Matt could feel/sense that they were right in the middle of the ocean. The deafening sound of the beating helicopter wings didn’t completely drown out the mechanical groans of a monstrous compound rising right out of the water, sending sea-salt up his nostrils and whipping his hair around his face. The helicopter descended, slowly, and upon landing, was swallowed up by the mouth of the expansive steel fortress. A loud “clang” of the roof closing around them signified sanctity, and Matt’s ear-pieces were removed.

 

The man with the rough hands dropped Matt’s blindfold next, and threw his duffel, which Matt was happy to realize had not been left behind, onto his lap. “Ready, sir?,” He asked, dragging out the ‘sir’, making it obvious that he was being vehemently sarcastic. Matt frowned, but nodded anyway, huffing the strap of his bag onto his shoulders and following the soldier out onto the air strip.

 

* * * * *

 

Frank had written a book, in prison. A children’s book, no less. Not that he was given any pencils to write with or paper to write on—God, no—he could have built a tank out of the cardboard backing and drove it right on out of this bitch—but he had all the words in his head.

 

“Dustin saves the world.”

 

If Frank had a second child with Matt, he had the name all picked out, didn’t matter if it were a boy or a girl. They would be Dustin. (If Matt had no objections of course, which of course, he probably wouldn’t).

 

Frank snickered at the thought. Here he was, in prison, maybe indefinitely, for the mass murder of poor, helpless murderers. Making up children’s stories.

 

The Dustin of the book would be a little girl who dreams of being a fire-fighter. (He pictured the art of the book looking very much like the illustrations of Coraline, but with brighter colors.) Dustin has a little black and white pit bull pup who is her sidekick, and they go around saving the town from a fire-starter named Matches McGee (Yeah, Frank noted sarcastically, not real creative, but he’s a fighter, not a writer).

 

“Ready, lover-boy?” A guard tapped on his bars, a cheap plastic shaver in hand. “Chief says to make you all pretty for your date tonight.”

 

Frank ran a hand down his scraggly face, the first time since being incarcerated that he had truly noticed his whiskers, and nodded.

 

Two guards behind the one with the razor pointed high-caliber rifles, the red dots glowing above Frank’s chest. The shaver-guard entered. “Hands behind your back,” he said, but Frank was already there. He had gotten to know the routine well. Wasn’t even allowed to handle his own shaving job, and Frank had to hand it to ‘em—they were smart for that. Frank had taken down 20 men with less. He was cuffed and shoved into the plastic seat of his cell. He kept his blank eyes forward, staring at one brick that was eye-level, making up patterns in his head with the dark spots where the paint had chipped off. The guard ran the water, swishing the blade through it, and grabbing Frank by the chin, forcing his head up to rest on his armored belly. “You know, Frankie,” The guard began. Frank bit down on his bottom lip and the guard scraped a rough line of chair from his neck, peeling skin up with it. The guard tapped the razor on the sink and had another go. “You ever think of how easy I could slice your jugular with this thing?”

 

“Don’t have to,” Frank murmured in reply. “I already know.”

 

The guard ignored him. “Yet here you sit, pretty as a daisy, just like this.” Another long drag of the razor up to his chin, slicing into flesh. A thin line of blood trickled down. “Oopsie,”  The guard chirped.

 

The officers behind him laughed.

 

“Shit, you must be bored.” Frank ground out, his voice lowering to the bottom of his throat in disgust. “That small pea-size brain of yours can think of nothin’ better to do than get off on ragging my ass.”

 

“No, Frankie. I do it for the fun.” The guard nicked his cheek and Frank jumped in his seat, turning his head away.

 

“Jesus!,” he bellowed. “You can’t shave worth shit. I hope you don’t go after your balls with that thing.”

 

“Calm down,” one of the guards outside the cell warned.

 

“Calm down?” Frank shot a look behind his shoulder. “You see what he’s doing to my face? Tell me to calm down?”

 

The guard shrugged. “Looks fine to me.”

 

“Bullshit,” Frank growled, submitting under the blade with a wince.

 

“Gotta be nice Trag,” The third guard chimed in. “His lady love’s gonna be sitting on that face in a few minutes, isn’t that right?”

 

“Fucking punks.” Frank set his jaw, willing himself to behave. _It wouldn’t be long_ , he promised himself, _it would all be worth it_.  

 

The guard called Trag did let up some, washing the blade thoroughly this time, raking it down Frank’s cheek, near his ear. “He is in heat, you know.”

 

Frank’s spine went rigid. His eyes burned with homicidal intent. He pursed his mouth shut to keep from reacting, biting down on a healing gash in his lip.

 

“I mean, he’s hot to trot, baby. I smelled it on him as soon as he arrived.”

 

Frank couldn’t help it. He glanced upward, his black eyes meeting the delighted glimmer of Trags’.

 

“Oh yeah, he’s here, old man. And he’s giving off some delicious feel-good vibes, if you know what I mean.” Trag continued his half-assed shaving job as Frank forced himself to look ahead. Frank saw the guard in the reflection of the small mirror above the sink, as he flicked his tongue out and rubbed it over his lips. “How did you catch such good-looking piece of ass like Matt Murdock?”

 

“His woman’s a _dude_?!” The third guard piped up and the trio exploded into laughter.

 

“You’re archaic, Benson,” The guard named Trag jested. “Yeah, Frankie’s got himself a blind-as-a-bat bitch boy taking his cock. Explains a lot, doesn’t it?”

 

Frank closed his eyes, satiating his rage by envisioning the three guards with their own rifles stuffed way up into their mouths, brain matter burning out the back.

 

“You think he’ll let us take turns?” Trag slapped Frank’s back. A thin line of blood streamed down Frank’s where he had bit into the flesh. “It’s only nice to share.”

 

 _One wrong move and it’s all over._ Frank had to drill the thought into his brain. It would be so easy for him to flip that stupid plastic chair and plant it right in Trag’s face. He could easily take out the two on the other side of the bars by ripping the mirror off the wall and throwing the shards into their necks like throwing stars. _But his chances to see Matt, to be with him, to feel his naked body against his own, to wipe away the tears and kiss his mouth and wrap his arms around him….it would all be done. They’d never get another chance. He had to behave._

_Had to._

“All done,” Trag announced, tossing a towel over Franks ragged face. He unclasped the handcuffs and slammed the cell door shut upon leaving. The mechanical whirring of several electrified locks clamping into place gave Frank a slice of hope. He had made it. They hadn’t won. “Question is,” Trag started in again, his eyes sliding to look at Frank, his face just centimeters from the cell door. “Who’s going to get the honor of feeding that fine ass a few fingers during the security check?” The other guards chuckled.

 

Frank slammed his hands into the cell bars, rattling them, the metal poles groaning under is grasp. The laughing ceased and the third guard jumped, his face flushed with trepidation, quickly scanning the bars for signs of damage. That gave Frank a little satisfaction, even as his furious gaze burned into Trag’s.

 

“Ah-ah-ah.” Trag corrected him with a wag of his finger. “You be a good boy, or no dessert.”

 

Frank watched them as they left, patting his face absentmindedly with the white towel, soaking up the blood from his sore face. When he was finally alone, he returned to the sink, splashing his face, trying to rid himself of the gut-wrenching knowledge that Matt— _his_ Matt—would have to encounter so much unpleasantness before they could be together. Frank’s heart sank. _I did this_ , he thought.

 

At least while washing his face, he couldn’t tell the difference between water and tears.

 

* * * * *

 

Matt was ushered into a room and instructed to take off all his clothes. He obediently turned himself into a rag-doll before the officers. It didn’t matter what they did to him—he was here, now, and nothing was going to stop his eventual reunion with his husband. Every request was acquiesced, every search was consented to, every interrogation he allowed; it was a mere stepping stone to the final result. They bent him over and his body jumped with excitement at the prospect of having something inside of him, even as Matt’s stomach churned. The fingers prodded around inside him, rough and callous, with no use of lube. He hissed in pain even as a bead of his self-lubricant rolled out and onto the guard’s fingers. He guard chuckled a little, and Matt blushed. But the snide comment that Matt was anticipating never came, and that was a welcome relief.

 

The conjugal visitation room was a large hall comprised of thick concrete walls, with a single cell in the very center. A glass containment field surrounded a cell of iron bars. The cell had a toilet, a small ceramic sink, and a twin-size bed with fresh sheets spread out. At least they  _smelled_ fresh. Matt picked up on the bed with his sonar and blushed. He knew that the cell would not be private, but this just seemed...too much. Like he and Frank and their lovemaking would be put on display for whomever was behind the cameras, or in the general vicinity, to watch.

 

Matt sensed Frank and his heart leapt into his throat. He folded his shaking hands in front of himself as the guard grabbed his bicep, leading him up the steps to the platform and inside the containment.

 

“Red,” Frank whispered and Matt shivered, tears rising instantaneously to the ridges of his eyes. He was grateful, suddenly for his dark-lensed glasses.

 

“Hey,” Matt tried. It came out barely audible. He tried flashing a reassuring smile at him instead, one that he knew Frank could see right through.

 

“Mr. Murdock,” a voice behind him said. Matt jumped a little, taken aback by the sudden realization that there was a body in the room that he hadn’t noticed. His sonar was working just fine. But between the manhandling, mistreatment and his pin-point focus on his husband, he had missed it completely. Matt turned towards the direction of the familiar voice. His brow furled. It belonged to Agent Kane Dockett, the asshole that had arrested Frank in the first place. The guard released Matt’s arm and stood at attention until Kane nodded him away.

 

Matt turned his head in Frank’s direction, trying to judge Frank’s mindset by smell/heartbeat/respiration. Kane was digging into the duffel Matt had brought before Matt could collect his thoughts. “The other guard already checked it,” Matt said.

 

Kane’s head shot up from the bag. “Did I ask you a question?”

 

Matt’s throat went dry and he went rigid.

 

“Well?” Kane pressed.

 

Hesitantly, Matt shook his head. Everything for him was playing out in slow motion. He could hear the slight hitch in Frank’s breath, and wondered if he, too, was thinking Kane was going to try everything possible to stop the visit. Matt had went by the book, having Foggy read and re-read the pamphlet of rules that came along with the acceptance letter to be sure that he got it just right. The duffel was exactly 24”x18”x12”, light-colored with a plastic zipper.   

 

Matt wanted so badly, then, to stretch out his fingers through the cold cell bars and touch Frank—any part of Frank—to let him know he was there, he was not alone—to feel the calloused, hard skin of his knuckles or the faint scar that ran along his cheek. To brush his thumbs across Frank’s pouty bottom lip and kiss the stubble that peppered his jawline. He swallowed hard, shutting out the feeling, steeling his arms to his sides.

 

“Looks good,” Kane announced finally. He nodded to the guard on his right. The guard wiggled a finger at Frank, who stuck his hands through the bars. He was handcuffed (with a very high-tech-looking set) as the cell door slid open.

 

Matt breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped through. This was it. He was in. He didn’t waste one second more, rushing to Frank’s side, his hands sweeping Frank’s face up, gathering his lips into a hungry kiss.

 

“Red,” Frank groaned, his mouth opening in dizzy desperation, straining against the bars as the guard came to un-hinge the handcuffs. He pulled against the bars, rattling the restraints impatiently.

 

“Hold up,” Kane said.

 

Matt froze.

 

“Was a cavity searched performed?” Kane addressed the guard just as he slid the key into the handcuffs.

 

“Yes,” Matt said, before the guard could reply, pressing his forehead to Frank’s shoulder, panting.

 

“I…” The guard took a double-take and glanced up at Kane, who glared at him intently. “ I don’t know, sir.”

 

Kane’s mouth curled upward into an ugly grin. “Well, then.”

 

“Oh come on, everything’s been done over and over again, you know that!,” Frank lashed out, snapping the bracelets against the bars.

 

“Frank,” Matt muttered, soothing his indignance with a press of his lips to his temple.

 

Kane held out his hand, motioning for Matt, and it took everything Matt had within him to peel himself off of Frank.

 

“No, this is bullshit,” Frank ground out. “Bullshit and he knows it!” He jerked his head towards Kane.

 

“Prisoner K853 will remain silent during the examination or this little visit is over, understood?”

 

“Bullshi—“

 

“UNDERSTOOD?”

 

Frank’s eyes were black and murderous, but his shoulders dropped and he surrendered with a hiss. “Yeah.”

 

Matt stepped out, the separation of those few feet more devastating than before now that he had Frank’s taste lingering on his lips. The bar doors clammered shut behind him.

 

He could hear the snap of vinyl as Kane leisurely stretched his gloves on. Matt’s hole was still sore from the last unwelcome probe, but his body, in full “omega” swing, was still yearning for the touch. The proximity of his alpha caused his body to stir, and he could feel himself getting wet again in preparation, regardless of whose fingers were actually going to be inside him. _Goddamn heat cycle!_ Matt took a step back, searching the rules, articles, and sections catalogued in his brain for a law that applied to the predicament of getting cavity-searched twice, and came up short.

 

The scraping of a metal chair across cement made him jump. Kane tapped the back of the chair, matter-of-factly, and ordered, “Take your pants down.”

 

Matt swallowed but found no saliva to work the trepidation down. He unzipped his slacks, thumbing a hold on the waist of his boxer-briefs, and pulling the fabric down, away from his hips. His back muscles quivered at the rush of cool air.

 

“Hands here,” Kane instructed, but he didn’t waste time waiting for Matt to find the back of the metal chair. Instead, he grabbed his wrists together and led him to it. With Matt’s hands on the chair, Kane reached up and ripped off Matt’s glasses, tossing them on top of the duffel. He smiled satisfactorily, bringing Matt’s chin up, gazing into Matt’s deep doe-brown eyes.

 

“Get your—“ Frank snapped, stopping only because Matt shot a look his way that told him to _shut the hell up_. Inside Matt’s head, he could hear Frank’s heart pounding in his chest.

 

Matt took in a slow breath and bent over the chair, exposing the two toned mounds of pink flesh for Kane’s viewing pleasure. Frank’s heady scent wafted through the bars of his cage like the aura of a vengeful god.

 

Kane’s scent was unfamiliar and dark, with a bitter licorice base-note that overwhelmed Matt’s nose. He buried his face in his sleeve. The alpha prowled around Matt, taking in the sight of his bared ass before running a finger down Matt’s spine, and disappearing into the crevasse. His thumb played around Matt’s hole, and Matt bucked against the sensation. “You going to get on with it?,” Matt barked. “Because I’m pretty sure this isn’t part of the process.”

 

“Well,” Kane said with a grin, his fingers splaying out over one smooth, soft cheek. “I didn’t get where I am by not being thorough.”

 

“Kane, you sonofabitch, I’ll have your fucking balls!” Frank wrenched away from the bars, the metal bands around his wrists snapping, threatening to break loose.

 

A hand clamped around the back of Matt’s neck, an arm lurching him forward and nearly toppling him over the chair. He cried out in shock as Kane’s hips ground into his ass. “I’ll fuck him right here if that’s what you want,” Kane threatened, his arm outstretched, keeping Matt pinned between his massive body and the metal chair that was now digging into his abdomen. Matt could have fought at that moment, so easily. He could have had Kane down on his knees, a foot embedded into his crotch, begging for his life. But right now nothing mattered besides Frank. Matt didn’t care—let the alpha had his way, then at least he will be satiated and then Matt could be with Frank, finally. At last. Shaking, Matt forced himself to relax, his belly going soft against the metal bar of the chair-back.

 

“It’s okay,” Matt muttered, his eyes gentle, staring into Frank’s. “It’s okay Frank.”

 

“Yeah, Frank,” Kane mimicked coolly, shoving two fingers mercilessly into Matt’s tight hole.

 

Matt bit down to keep from reacting, turning his inward scream into a muffled choking sound and taking in a sharp breath.

 

His hole instinctively opened, clamping around the fingers, his muscles thriving and new and aching for the penetrative touch. His stomach churned when he heard Kane’s satisfied groan. “Damn, he _is nice,_ Castle. I can see why you were so antsy for your conjugal.”

 

“Just let him go,” Frank’s voice broke, defeated. “You got what you wanted.”

 

“Did I?” Kane’s eyebrow lifted, doing a head-tilt as he pushed another finger in and wiggled it around.

 

Matt hissed in pain.

 

“Mr. Murdock, I am surprised at your fortitude. For someone so naturally small down there, to take in three fingers so _hungrily_. And your husband is not exactly a tiny man. He’s pretty much hung like a garden hose, isn’t he?” Kane chuckled.

 

It was Matt’s turn to growl in disgust.

 

“And I have of course, had the pleasure of meeting Eric. He is a _charmer_ , isn’t he? I wonder if he takes after his Daddy.” With a sickening squeak of the vinyl gloves, Kane buried his knuckles to the hilt. Matt let out a squeak.

 

Frank sucked in his breath and rocked on his heels, looking a lot like the rolling back of dark thunder-clouds just before the onslaught of a category 5 tornado. But Kane pulled out and snapped the gloves off before he could unleash the hell-fury. “He’s all yours,” Kane said with a grin.

 

The bewildered guard slid the door open once more and this time, Matt pulled up his pants and gingerly stepped in. He was wet and ready-to-go, the instinct to breed radiating from his every pore, choking on the loss of the filling sensation of the fingers as he stared Frank down. The gate locked, the cuffs came off and Frank dove for Matt, gathering him up in his arms, devouring his mouth, pulling his head back with a fist-full of brown hair and knocking him to the bed. “Frank!” Matt murmured against him in hazy surprise.

 

“Gonna kill him, Red, I promise,” Frank groaned out, dragging the tee-shirt of his prison fatigues off, peeling it away from his knotted muscles.

 

Matt’s fingers scaled the rough edges of Frank’s abdomen. He traced new, unfamiliar scars and soft spots and frowned. “God, Frank, what did they do to you?”

 

Frank didn’t answer and didn’t seem to care. He was busy wriggling out of the prison-issue scrubs and kicking them off to the floor. Matt’s head stirred, dazed, at the bared body before him. “Gonna erase every inch of him off you,” Frank snarled. “Jesus-God, Red…”

 

Matt stiffened, pushing Frank back suddenly. “But what about..?” He glanced in the direction of the lone guard and the glowering agent.

 

Kane had taken his place on the metal chair, arms folded across his broad chest. Matt could hear the smile in his tone. “Don’t mind me.”

 

Matt blinked. Frank hovered above him, teetering on the edge of his patience, panting. “What the hell,” he muttered with a shrug. Instantaneously, Frank’s tongue was in his mouth, again, flicking over Matt’s teeth, leaning into his husband, swirls of chest hair teasing Matt’s nipples. 

 

They both worked on Matt’s clothes, pulling off his slacks and boxers, and unbuttoning his dress-shirt, until all that was left was a tangle of arms and legs together and a feeling of completeness and fulfillment that left Matt sobbing against Frank’s mouth.

 

Fireworks ignited his skin everywhere Frank touched, his roughness to Matt’s softness sending a wave of pleasure rocketing through him. Even with the audience, Matt got hard quickly, precum dripping from his head of his throbbing cock. Frank dipped his head down into Matt’s hips, sucking away the beads of moisture, his tongue jutting against the underside of Matt’s dick.

 

Matt let out a sharp, closed-mouth moan, throwing his head back to the pillow. _Eat your heart, out, creeps._ Frank’s fingers worked greedily at Matt’s entrance, swiping his thumb across every inch that Kane had possibly touched, slipping a finger inside and getting sucked in by Matt’s tight hole. Frank shuddered above him, rubbing his impressive, hardened length against Matt’s thigh—all softness and wetness and need. _Missed you_ , he breathed, his lips forming the words in a code meant only for them.

 

Matt turned over, intent on Frank burying his entire length in him, no matter how it hurt, because they could and because they were together in this moment and Matt hadn’t admitted to himself until right then how empty he had been without Frank—empty bed, empty apartment, empty life. He planted his stomach on the smooth, crisp sheets, the medal around his neck jingling, and presented his round ass to Frank to do with as he saw fit, do what he wanted, do what he needed to do, because whatever Frank was offering, Matt wanted it too.  Frank got on his knees, placing a reverent kiss on the small of Matt’s back, his tongue trailing downward. Matt froze. “Frank?”

 

“I told you, Red,” Frank murmured against pale, firm skin, giving Matt’s right ass cheek a squeeze for effect. “I’m gonna erase every mark of him on you.” Frank glared at the glowering agent staring unabashedly at the scene they were making before dipping his tongue into Matt’s tight orifice.

 

Matt let out a sharp moan against the pillow, clutching both ends as he opened himself up to Frank, letting the warm wetness overcome his awareness of the two sets of prying eyes in the room. In retrospect, he supposed he should have been grateful there were not more eyes watching. But Kane’s presence—and the unsettling mention of Eric’s name—pushed his mindset beyond the bounds of gratefulness.

 

A sharp jab into his insides made his head rock back, a gasp fluttering up from deep within his throat. It was Frank, wriggling against the walls of his muscles, fucking him dizzy with his tongue, one hand stretched over Matt’s back, grabbing fistfuls of cinnamon brown hair.

 

Frank shifted his hips on the bed to accommodate his hand, snaking around Matt’s clenched, rock-hard stomach to flick his fingers over his erection. The feathery touch made Matt sob, and a string of Matt's self-lubricant rolled up Frank’s tongue. Frank shuddered in pleasure at the taste and wrapped his hand around Matt’s length, stroking it lightly.

 

“Come on,” Matt gasped, his hips jutting forward into the touch. His hard back muscles quivered as Frank licked a stripe upward, his tongue curling into new, unexplored areas of his body. Matt’s muscles clenched tight and he let out a small, undignified whine. Frank began a rhythm, his fist jutting against Matt’s testicles with each stroke. Soon, Matt was gasping, and as Frank’s mouth closed around his entrance, his tongue buried inside, a spurt of cum spattered against the sheets.

 

“Here comes the money shot,” Kane badgered, and the guard chuckled.

 

Matt bit his tongue, stifling another sob, but another sharp jolt from Frank’s tongue put Matt back on-task and soon he was chasing his climax, spilling out and onto the bed, a cry catching in his throat. “Baby,” Frank murmured as he pulled out of Matt, licking a solid stripe of saliva and pre-cum up one perfectly formed buttock.

 

Frank’s kisses trailed up Matt’s spine, Frank’s calloused fingers splaying out over Matt’s shoulder blades in soothing strokes as he shamelessly mounted him. Matt obediently tucked his knees and opened his hips wide, purring like a kitten as the head of his cock jutted up against Matt’s hole. Frank moaned, preparing to slide in. Suddenly, Matt pulled away, twisting underneath Frank until he was facing him, his arms coiling around Frank’s neck, the St. Christopher medal chiming in its familiar jingle. Matt blinked slowly, planting a kiss on Frank’s wide lips. Matt was in heat. Which meant Frank was in his rut. Which meant he would most definitely be popping a knot, keeping them locked together for at least an hour, probably longer. Matt didn’t want to waste that time. He was going to spend that time in the circle of Frank’s arms, doing pillow-talk and tracing little figure-8’s all over Frank’s shoulders. Maybe even making a baby. Matt chuckled at that thought—usually it was Frank begging for another little Eric running around.

 

“You’re blushing,” Frank said, smiling down and kissing Matt’s forehead softly. He shifted into position and bumped the head of his cock against Matt’s, a groan catching in his throat. “Wanna tell me what you’re thinking about?”

 

“Thinking about…” Matt sighed, his tongue flicking out over his lips as he let Frank in. “Thinking about…what if we make a baby.”

 

“Ohhhhh, damn you,” Frank shuddered, sliding his thumbs into the grooves along Matt’s hips and thrusting forward.

 

It had been years since Matt had allowed Frank around during a heat. Usually, Frank would pack his duffel the night before what Matt joking called “Takeoff”, and be gone, out of the range of Matt’s driving need.  Matt didn’t care, this time through. He had no choice over the date of the conjugal, and all he wanted was Frank.

 

“You gonna give me a baby?,” Matt teased. Frank growled in reply, and Matt felt the familiar bulb at the hilt of Frank’s shaft as it stretched inside of him and restricted both their movements. Matt’s body responded in kind, firing off a round sperm-happy pre-cum, his entrance sealing tightly around Frank’s dick. It would have been painful if it didn’t feel so goddamned good. Frank was right on the edge, grunting with every thrust, burying Matt into the covers. His whole body went rigid as he came, filling Matt with hot seed, the bulge in his penis inflating to full size, sealing every drop in. He collapsed, panting, on top of Matt, and gathered him into his powerful arms.  

 

Matt shifted carefully, and Frank followed suit, until the two lay on their sides, facing each other. Frank grabbed for a non-sticky portion of the bed sheet and threw it over them.  Matt sighed contentedly.

 

In the silence, the sadness crept back in, though. Matt shut his eyes, slowing his breath and willing every second that ticked by to be slower than the next. “I know, baby,” Frank murmured against his forehead. “I know.”

 

Matt’s head lolled to Frank’s shoulder and the next few hours that ticked by were filled with light-hearted conversation; how Eric was doing for his first year of college, if Matt had figured out why the thermostat was making that weird “ticking” sound, an argument about why Thai food was better than Chinese. Nothing sad, nothing depressing. Nothing about Daredevil, or crime, or Frank’s case. Nothing about whether Matt had managed to go a day without breaking down, knowing that Frank had not.

 

Frank and Matt had another quick round, one that would have to last until the next visit. This time (Matt was relieved), they had been left in relative peace, with no comments from the Peanut Gallery. (Said Peanut Gallery was currently busy scrolling through his phone). The knot didn’t happen the second time, so Matt got up, stretching his aching muscles, and opened the duffel. He felt Kane’s eyes lock onto him. “They’re just clothes,” Matt muttered, raising his hands. Kane huffed and glanced back down at his phone, and Matt drew out some street clothes for the ride back to the apartment.

 

It wasn’t home. Couldn’t be home, without Frank.

 

Frank washed up by the sink and rolled his prison fatigues back on.

 

“Time’s up,” Kane said.

 

Matt grabbed Frank’s arms, pulling him in for one last desperate kiss.

 

“Love you, too, Sunshine,” Frank murmured against his lips with a sad smile.

 

Matt was pulled away, because damn it that was the only way he would be leaving his husband, turning his face at all times towards Frank’s direction.

 

“They say absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Kane mocked as he escorted Matt out of the expansive room. He let out a chuckle. “It’s kind of cute, in a pathetic way.”

 

Matt didn’t give him the pleasure of a response. He heard the rattling of guard’s keys and chain-restraints and knew that Frank was being cuffed and escorted back to his cell, wherever that was.

 

It was dark when he made it back to the waiting helicopter and donned the ear-buds and the blindfold, again. He let in a deep breath of sea-foam as the helicopter lifted up, out of the cavernous monstrosity that was his husband’s prison.

 

He held in from the helicopter to the car ride, and from the car ride back to the apartment. Held it all in.

 

He reached his door, fumbling for his keys, his hands shaking as he struggled to find the lock. He heard the snick of the lock from the inside, and Foggy was on the other side, sliding the door open.

 

“Hey, Matty, you okay--?“ Matt collapsed in Foggy’s arms, drawing his best friend in.                             

 

“You want to go to the gym?,” Matt said. He felt the sudden urge to punch the shit out of something.

 

* * * * *

 

“Whaddyou want?” Frank sneered over his dinner. Kane had a saunter that advertised his superiority complex.

 

“I just wanted to thank you for the entertainment, today.” The agent ran two fingers across the cell bars, bringing them to his tongue and licking a long stripe up them.

 

Frank shook his head, flattening the hackles on the back of his neck, and stabbed a meatball with a fork. “C’mon Kane,” Frank drawled out, stuffing a mouthful of food into his cheek and chewing. “You and I are men of action. We don’t mince words.”

 

Kane shrugged. “True.” Frank’s eyes flicked downward in the direction of the seat across the bars, in the corner, and Kane smiled. “I have a connection,” Kane offered. “Someone that might be able to help you out.”

 

“Sorry,” Frank murmured, shoving a few more bites into his mouth. “I don’t deal with guys who finger-fuck my husband.”

 

Kane snickered. “Fair enough. But the longer you’re in here, wasting away, your husband and your son are out there…” He signaled to the window. “And it’s a cruel world, Frank. You know that better than most.”

 

“What are you insinuating?”

 

“My Chief has authorized me to offer you a job,” Kane said.

 

Frank stopped chewing. “A job?”

 

“As a S.T.R.I.K.E. Team operative.”

 

Frank snorted. “I don’t do teams,” he muttered.

 

Kane shrugged. “Still, it’s better than rotting away in this underwater coffin. I mean, two months in and you’re practically a corpse already.”

 

Frank’s eyes darted away. “What’s in it for you?”

 

Kane shifted in his seat. “Let’s just say… I have my reasons for keeping you close. That and, you are far too talented to just let you sit on the shelf, un-played-with.” A grin curled his mouth.

 

“No dice,” Frank said after a pause, finishing up his meal in two quick gulps, pounding down the ridiculously tiny juice box, and slamming his fist against the bars. “Guard!”

 

“Quit hollering, Castle, they can hear you on Ellis Island.” Trag shuffled in, both thumbs in his pockets.

 

“Get this trash out of here,” he growled, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. Trag took the tray. “No, dumbass. I was talking about _him_.”  Frank jutted his chin towards Kane.

 

“Watch yourself,” Kane ground out. “I’m not above wiping this floor with your teeth.”

 

Frank sniffled. “Says the alpha with no omega.”

 

Kane’s eyebrows raised. “Keep it up.”

 

“Aww, gee, I’m sorry. Hit a nerve did I, there, boss?” Frank hurled a ball of spit into the trash can at the corner of his cell, muttering, “Piece of shit.”

 

The guard stared down in mock-admiration. “Like watching an old racist western, huh Mr. Dockett?”

 

“Something like that,” Kane muttered. He turned his attention back to Frank, who was now brooding in a corner on his bunk.  “Well, Frank, if you choose to decompose in this hell-hole, just know that I’d be _happy_ to take care of your family,” Kane said softly, pulling out a silver metal tracking device from his suit pocket.

 

Frank’s eyes ignited.

 

“Look familiar?” Kane ran the smooth, cool metal ring under his nose, closing his eyes as if breathing in the scent of a flower. He ran it along his lips, sucking a portion of it into his mouth. “No need for this dingy tracking device. Your baby boy is safe with me. That I can promise.”

 

Frank launched himself at the bars, snarling. “Don’t you fucking touch him.”

 

“Join S.T.R.I.K.E.,” Kane snapped. “ C’mon, Frank. “It’d be fun.”

 

“Okay,” Frank spat, his eyes searching Kane’s. “If for no other reason than to feed you your own ball-sack.”

 

“Pomises, promises.” Kane pocketed the ring once more. “Don’t disappoint me, now.”

 

-End-

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Artwork for The Punished NSFW!

[](http://s611.photobucket.com/user/Jamie_Lyn_Gaskin/media/Fratt2_zpsi55vqgwq.jpg.html)


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